


Gambling Man

by Ariel_Tempest



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M, Random smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 07:58:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7352632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariel_Tempest/pseuds/Ariel_Tempest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cid Highwind's a great guy, but if he doesn't stop making stupid bets with pissy chocobo jockeys, Cloud and Vincent may have to kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gambling Man

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2005 and published on FicWad. This is what happens when I notice that Joe gets hacked off when you beat him repeatedly. Also, while I know that chocobos naturally come in a rainbow of colours in other FF games, for this piece I am working strictly from FF VII, so the palette is more limited. If your bird does not match that palette, you've used feather dye, and Joe wishes you dead.

Joe was angry.

Cloud had thought that anger couldn’t be any more apparent than it had been on the track, when the other man had been breathing down his neck for the entire course and nearly ran him off the path at the end. However, now that the race was over and the two of them had returned to the bustling noise of the stable and he found himself nose to nose with the jockey’s glaring face, it was really impossible to miss.

“Can I help you with something?” Cloud tried to keep his expression mild, or at least bland, and not aggravate the situation. He didn’t know what the other man’s problem was, other than the fact Cloud and Atlas had beaten him about nine times in a row now, but the last thing the party needed was to be kicked out of the Golden Saucer because of a brawl.

Pale brown eyes, turned nearly amber by the light, narrowed further. “Think you’re impressive, don’t you, rookie? You and your shiny bird.” Joe sneered. His accent marked him as a native of Costa del Sol, possibly a little bit out side of the main city. “Well let me tell you something; I’ve been racing longer than you’ve been riding, and if you think you’re ousting me as the best rider here, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Cloud held up his hands in defense. “Hey, look, I’m not trying to. I’m just racing because I need a few of the things they give as prizes. After that…”

“What, you’ll be able to raise enough gil to breed an army of chocobos to oil up and make flashy?”

“Oil?” Blue eyes blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation. He had no idea what oil had to do with anything.

Joe snorted. “Yeah, oil.” He pulled back, giving the blond fighter a bit of breathing room, and gestured to the surrounding stalls. He raised his voice a little. “You think I don’t know all the tricks to you would-be’s and your flashy birds? Dyed feathers. Oiled feathers. Who’s ever heard of a purple chocobo? Or a pink one? Who’s ever seen a bird that glitters as much as yours? Hell, you probably put some sort of metal flakes in whatever you use for all that flash, and the hell with whether it’s good for the bird.”

“Um, no, I…” Cloud tried to say that Atlas had been born like that, but Joe wouldn’t let him.

“Yellow. White. Green. Blue. Black. Those are the only colours a choco comes in naturally,” Joe continued, his words clipped short, one finger jabbing at Cloud’s chest. “Good coats come from good breeding, not a bottle, and flash can’t make up for speed and stamina. Oh, sure, you may be dazzling the crowds now, you may have won a few races, but once you’ve ground your bird’s ass into the track trying to win your shiny trinkets, we’ll see how long you keep racing.”

“Whatever.” Rolling his eyes, Cloud pushed past the other man and headed to Atlas’ stall. The golden chocobo was watching them over his door curiously as if to ask what all of the hullabaloo was about. Two stalls down, Teioh followed suit, although the black chocobo’s expression seemed almost hostile. “Look, I bred Atlas, he’s always been that colour, I haven’t dyed any of my birds, and I don’t know exactly what your problem is, but…”

“That’s why he’s going to kick your ass next race!”

Cloud gave a little jump at the interruption. Turning, he found Cid standing over by the A class stalls. “Um, Cid?”

“Oh, really.” Joe’s eyes narrowed again and while his words were in response to Cid, he was still glaring at Cloud. “Okay then, rookie, how about a little bet?”

“Me?” Now Cloud was confused about who was being spoken to. The rest of the jockeys had either stopped in their activities or slowed significantly to listen.

“Yeah. You.” Expression not softening in the slightest, Joe smiled. “If I win the next race…No. I won’t make you swear to stop racing, but if I win, I get to push your ass into one of the empty stalls, drop your pants, and pound you into the straw.”

“Um…” Despite the seriousness of the other man’s demeanor, Cloud couldn’t really tell if he was joking or not. The whistles and cat calls that broke out from around the stable didn’t help. Someone even asked if they could watch.

“You’re on!” Cid crowed, slinging one arm around Cloud’s shoulders. “And if Cloud wins, he gets to do the same to you!”

Blue eyes widened in disbelief and a little bit of panic. “Um!”

“It’s a deal.” With a cocky jerk of his head and a touch of one gloved hand to the brim of his hat, Joe turned and sauntered over to Teioh’s stall. “See you on the track, rookie!”

 

***

 

“Cid, what are you doing?” Staring up at the blond pilot as if he’d sprouted a second head was probably not the most productive thing Cloud could be doing, but he couldn’t seem to manage anything else just now. He was an experienced fighter. Monsters, he had no problems with, but this bet? While he’d done well in the races so far and was definitely getting the hang of chocobo breeding, he was not an experienced rider and all of his wins against Joe so far he’d written off to luck. “Are you crazy?”

“Don’t sweat it.” Cid winked at him in a friendly, confidential way. “Here, let’s get Atlas ready for the race.”

Cloud allowed himself to be steered into Atlas’ stall where the chocobo cheerfully started nibbling on his hair. “But Cid! I don’t want to do anything with him! I mean…I…girls! I like girls!”

“I’d noticed.” Snorting and blowing a smoke ring, Cid looked out across at where Joe was readying Teioh. “Look, Cloud, it’s not going to be a problem. You’ve kicked his ass so far, you’ll kick it again. When it comes time to collect he’s going to be all embarrassed as hell, so you tell him that you’ll let him off the hook this time. He’ll leave us alone from here on out and it makes you look all nice. Nothing to it.”

“You’re certain?” Cloud eyed the other man skeptically.

“Absolutely.” His companion assured him. “I mean, look at him. I’m no judge of men, or women if we get down to it, but he’s a pretty boy. He’s got to have chicks jumping all over him. It’s not as if he’s desperate for a shag or something.”

Pausing in saddling up Atlas, Cloud cast a quick look over at Joe. Admittedly, Cid was probably right. He was tall, thin, and had that perpetual tan that had made all of the Costa del Sol cadets so popular off duty. His loose red shirt was as flashy as he accused Atlas of being and contrasted sharply with his black hat and white breeches. In fact, he probably had so many women chasing after him that if he won Cloud would find himself being ‘let off the hook’. That was a reassuring thought. “I suppose you’re right…”

“I know I am. Just get ready for the race and kick his ass.”

“Right.” The butterflies in his stomach mostly settled, Cloud turned back to readying Atlas. He would win, the bet would be called off, and life would be fine. Everything would be just fine…

 

***

 

“Hey, Joe.”

Slowing Teioh slightly as the chocobos made their way to the starting gate, Joe cocked his head back. “Yeah, Cecil?”

The sandy haired jockey behind him leaned forward over the white neck of his own bird and hissed. “You sure you know what you’re doing? With that bet I mean. I know you hate the way these treasure hunters dress up their birds and think it makes them the world, but damn, under that glitter that’s still a good choco he’s riding.”

“For now.” Joe snorted. “If that rookie can take care of him, but what are the odds of that? I mean really. Remember the last guy who beat me? Eight races and his bird nearly dropped out from under him half way through the race. I know what I’m doing.”

“True…” Cecil sounded thoughtful. “But what if he does win?”

Twisting his head a little, Joe snuck a glance back at the glittery chocobo’s rider. He’d figured the blond for a hunter the second he showed up in the C class races. Everything from his toned muscles to his modified armor screamed fighter rather than jockey. Still, he was the sort of pale, blond hero type that made women like his sisters sigh about being ‘hard, but with innocent eyes’ and other such rubbish. “If I lose…he’s not that bad looking, but I’m not going to lose.”

Joe was from a long line of chocobo breeders and racers. Teioh was a damn good bird, carefully bred from only the best in the stables. He’d wondered at the rookie showing up with the blue and green birds, then another black, but this glittery one…black was the best a chocobo got, everyone knew that. It had to be oil and gold dust; the rest of his birds had to be dyed.

“So if you win, are you going to let him off the hook?”

Joe grinned. “Hell no. Shouldn’t make bets you don’t intend to pay.”

“You’re a bastard, you know that?” Cecil grinned back. They both knew he was serious about the insult, but after racing together for years they had an understanding about such things. Specifically, they both understood that Joe was indeed a bastard and he didn’t care.

“You keep telling me.” They’d reached the starting gate. Joe reined Teioh in and headed to the rail gate. He wasn’t overly superstitious, but he always considered the rail gate to be a good omen since the long course opened favoring the rail.

Three gates down, the glittery chocobo danced a little under his rider. Joe snorted and shook his head a little. Teioh stood rock steady, beak turned toward the finish line, waiting patiently for Joe’s permission to go.

“Ready!”

Joe focused on the track, the familiar scenery on either side fading into the periphery of his mind.

“Go!”

A touch and Teioh was moving. Joe let him shoot out in front, then pulled him back a little, deliberately letting a few of the others get ahead of him. He was waiting for the blond fighter.

A flash of gold streaked past him. He eased Teioh over, slipping behind one bird dyed a ridiculous shade of pinkish red, and gave the black bird more rein, letting him ease up just behind the glittering bird that was now in second, right behind Cecil and Fox.

Joe saluted Cecil as they moved past, a break from the race that would have cost anyone else more than it was worth.

Cecil saluted back.

As they twisted around the course, quickly losing the rest of the pack, Joe kept Teioh’s nose as close to the other bird’s tail feathers as he could without risking getting kicked. The plan was simple, predictable, and old as the hills. He would simply wait until they were almost at the finish line, then move Teioh into a full out run. He’d raced against the blond man and his bird enough to know that Teioh had a gross advantage in speed, so all he needed to do was make certain not to wear him out.

Of course, the glittery chococbo didn’t seem to like being followed that closely. Joe could hear his rider swear as the bird swerved, not quite all over the course, fighting to run flat out and shake his follower. Joe grinned. The rookie had to be sweating up a storm by now.

The finish line came in sight. Joe tensed, lowering himself along Teioh’s neck. The glittery chocobo made a small leap and kicked into full speed, but Joe was already guiding Teioh to the railing, feeling the black bird’s feathers rustle in the wind as he picked up speed. The blond rider could faintly be heard urging his mount on-

-And then something collided with Teioh’s rear end, knocking the black bird off balance. Joe glanced over his shoulder to see a purple mass of feathers collapsing even as its rider ruthlessly urged it forward. He turned back just as Teioh regained his momentum, but it was too late. The two of them passed under the finish line just after the blond and his glittery bird.

Forget angry. Joe was livid.

 

***

 

“What?” Cloud stared, completely dumbfounded, the elation he’d felt at winning the race speeding off as quickly as Atlas at top speed.

“I always pay my debts.” Joe replied, seemingly calm. There was a stiffness in the other man’s posture and a certain tenseness to his mouth that suggested he wasn’t quite as nonplussed as he pretended, but Cloud was too busy reeling to really notice. “You aren’t weaseling out of this bet just because you won.”

“I…I…” Try as he might, Cloud couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the situation. This was absolutely not how things were supposed to go. Cid had promised him. Hell, Cid had made the bet in the first place! Why should he have to fulfill a bet he hadn’t actually made? Desperate for any way out of the situation, he rounded on the pilot. “Cid! You made the bet! You’re the one who should have to go through with this!”

Cid nearly choked on his cigarette. “Ah, hell no! Nothing doing!”

“I don’t see what all of the fuss is about!” With a yawn and a stretch up onto the balls of her feet, Yuffie turned her attention to the chocobos. She was one of the only people in the stable who wasn’t intently watching the shout-off. “Whatever it is you’ve won, just take it and let’s go!”

“Yeah, you seem like you don’t want this shit, whatever it is.” Barrett eyed the two blonds curiously. “What’d you bet for anyway? Manure for growing your own greens?”

Cloud turned beet red and opened his mouth, only to realize he didn’t have the first clue how to actually tell them, so he shut it again.

Cid shuffled his feet and looked at the ground.

Joe crossed his arms, leaned back against the door to Teioh’s stall, crossed his legs at the ankles and calmly said, “Sex.”

“EH?” Yuffie came down hard on her soles and stared.

“What?” Tifa looked from Joe to Cloud and back in shock.

Barrett gaped.

Red XIII looked nominally surprised.

Cait Sith appeared to blush, but it was hard to tell on a black and white toy cat face.

Vincent didn’t change expression, posture, or anything else.

To clarify, Joe pointed to Cloud. “I said that he could fuck me.”

Tifa rounded, expression turning from shock to outraged disbelief. “Cloud!”

“ _CID MADE THE BET_!” As if to give the claim more validity, Cloud pointed at the pilot who was furiously huffing his way through his current cigarette. “ _I HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH IT_!”

Several of the other jockeys were laughing. At the table, one sandy haired man had his face in his hands, his shoulders visibly shaking.

“Damn, what the fuck’s wrong with you?” Barrett was eyeing Joe as if he had some sort of disease. “I mean, I got no problem with men and men and stuff, but shit! I’ve never seen someone so pushy for sex as all that! Here,” he reached into his pocket, “here’s five gil for a hooker, now leave us alone!”

Joe glared at him. “This isn’t about sex. It’s a matter of principle. I always pay my debts.”

“Fine then!” Cid rounded on the tan jockey. “We’ll switch the payment! You can give us something else, say, one of the prizes you’ve won!”

“I never take the prizes.” Joe deflected calmly. “Jockeys get gil from the patrons who gamble all the time. I always take GP.”

Cloud perked up. “I was going to go to the Battle Arena after the last race, we could use the GP.”

The offer was deflected before he could finish making it. “I don’t have any spare. I already put in an advance payment at the Ghost Hotel for my room and funny thing, I didn’t win any races tonight.” Cloud got another glare.

“So go out and win one!” Cid snorted smoke. “There’ll be racing all night, and now that Cloud’s out you shouldn’t have any trouble.”

“Hell no.” With a derisive snort, Joe gestured to the sleepy looking black bird next to him. “Teioh’s starting to get worn out and after that crash last race there’s no way I’m taking him back out until I’m sure he didn’t pull anything.”

“Fine then!” Cid was clearly losing patience. He leveled a finger at the black chocobo. “Give us the damn bird!”

That was a mistake. An eye blink later Joe had his hands buried in Cid’s shirt and was snarling into the blond’s face. “You’ll take that bird over my dead body, you shit livered old goat.”

“Enough.”

The action ground to a halt. Even the birds in their stalls stopped eating, grooming, or whatever else they were doing. Everyone looked at Vincent Valentine.

“We’re wasting time.” The dark haired man continued, his arms folded over his chest, his face unreadable. “The rest of you, go with Cloud to the Battle Arena. I’ll stay behind and continue bargaining with him.” He nodded at Joe.

“Vincent,” Tifa frowned, “are you sure? They started this mess…”

“Cid started this mess!” Cloud protested.

“Go.” Vincent repeated. “It will be fine.”

Joe slowly released Cid, eyeing Vincent with a half sullen, half wary expression. The rest of the party gathered themselves and moved toward the door.

Cloud lagged behind a little bit, sheepish. “Look, Vincent, I…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Something in the other man’s expression made Cloud feel like a very small child. He nodded a little and, unable to think of anything else to say, all but slunk after the others. As he passed through the stable entrance, he heard Vincent restart the discussion.

“Is there somewhere a bit more private we can talk about this?”

 

***

 

“Welcome to my room.” Joe gestured negligently to his suite. While most of the chocobo jockeys were lodged in the standard rooms, Mr. Hangman kept aside a few of the nicer rooms for the regulars who helped generate a lot of income for the Golden Saucer. Joe’s was one of the nicest.

He crossed to the bar and snagged himself a beer from the cold chest. The door clicking behind him told him that his guest had either entered after him, or shut the door and made a run for it. Rather than turn and look, he simply asked, “Would you like something to drink?”

A low, mellow voice replied, “Yes, thank you.”

“Excellent.” While he would have cheerfully bad mouthed the rookie blond and his friends from one end of the Golden Saucer to the other for running out on a bet, Joe was pleased the other man had stuck to his guns and followed him. It would be more fun this way. “What would you like? Beer, tequila, I could have room service bring up some wine…?”

“Beer will be fine.”

Joe grabbed another beer and turned to hand it to his guest. The other man took it in his right hand and, before Joe could turn back to find the bottle opener, stuck the metal clawed thumb of his left hand through the cap and flipped it off. He then handed the bottle back to Joe.

The jockey arched an eyebrow and handed over the still closed bottle. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“So, your name is Vincent, yes?” Taking a swig from his beer, Joe walked over and settled himself into one of the room’s two arm chairs. He took the opportunity to study his companion a bit as there hadn’t been that much time for it back in the stables. From the other man’s tall, lean figure to his long black hair, he liked what he saw. The hair would be especially fun to play with, if he got the chance, which unfortunately wasn’t going to be too likely if he was on the bottom. That was one of the many reasons he preferred topping, but he’d made the bet, so he couldn’t really complain.

“Yes.” Vincent was, apparently, a man of few words. If nothing else, he didn’t seem overly fond of small talk.

“Well, I’m Joe, pleased to officially meet you.” With a cocky little grin, Joe waved to the other arm chair. He then pulled his hat off and tossed it over onto the night stand. It spun, nearly hit the lamp, and landed with a satisfying fwump. “Have a seat. Serious business should never be done standing up.”

“Indeed?” One dark eyebrow nearly disappearing under his headband, Vincent took the offered chair. He moved slowly, arranging his cloak under him as he sat, then looked up straight into Joe’s eyes. “Were you sitting when you made this bet?”

“I wasn’t serious when I made the bet.” Joe shrugged and ran his fingers through the short slick of his hair to smooth it. “I honestly didn’t expect your rookie friend to take it.”

“Cloud didn’t take it,” the other man pointed out reasonably. “Cid took it.”

“Yeah, but…Cloud?” Joe paused for confirmation. Vincent nodded. “Cloud didn’t say no.”

“What did he say?”

It took awhile for the jockey to remember that one. “I think he said ‘um’ a couple of times.”

Pale lips twitched a little, almost forming a half smile. “From Cloud, ‘um’ means ‘my brain is trying to comprehend this. Give me a moment’. You and Cid were simply too fast for him.”

“Really? Hmmm.” This time it was Joe’s turn to raise an eyebrow. He leaned back in his chair and stretched one leg out in front of him, taking a fairly sizable swig of his drink. That changed things, drastically. The bet was still on. However, the rookie had been right, the chain smoking blond should be the one to accept the payment. Except that hadn’t been the bet. This was getting complicated. “Well, that bites. That other guy really isn’t my type.”

Vincent sighed and took a quick drink. “Why don’t you just let this go? The bet wasn’t properly made and therefore can’t be properly fulfilled.”

“But it was made, ‘properly’ or not.” Joe shook his head and looked at the other man. “The first thing my grandfather taught me, right after teaching me to ride, is to always pay your debts and to do it as soon as possible. If you don’t, they come back to bite you. Call it paranoid if you want, but I’ve seen too much double dealing and shit not to stick to it.”

“Sensible.” Black hair slid over Vincent’s shoulder as the other man nodded in acknowledgement. “But since this one can’t be paid properly, there will have to be some compromise, yes?”

“Naturally.” Joe took another, healthy swig of his beer and grinned. “I thought that’s why you were here.”

There was a long moment of silence. Vincent watched the jockey with an unreadable expression, then said slowly, “You’re not going to change your payment, are you? We could sit here all night, but all you’re willing to do is change who you pay.”

“Absolutely.” With another grin and a wink, Joe explained, “Anything else I can give you is something I have to give up. Teioh, money, hell even that beer,” he pointed to Vincent’s barely touched drink, “That’s something I don’t have anymore. Sex doesn’t cost me anything. Even if I am stuck on the bottom, it’s a payment we can both enjoy.”

“I see.”

The silence settled in again. Joe let it, content to drink his beer and watch Vincent’s face as the other man mulled over the information he’d been given. What fascinated him the most was Vincent’s eyes. They were ever so slightly wide set with thick black lashes. The irises themselves provided the only colour in the man’s otherwise black and white face, and they were a strange, reddish copper, an almost glowing colour like a near dead ember. They had a rather endearing, unfocused look to them as he pondered. To someone from Costa del Sol where pretty much everyone had the same colouring, unless they bleached their hair or were originally from out of town, the contrast was quite striking. He was, upon reflection, glad that this man had decided to collect on the bet rather than his oh-so-blond rookie friend. Cloud was attractive; Vincent was sexy.

Joe had nearly finished his beer by the time the other man spoke again.

“So. There are only two real options.” Vincent took a rather large swig of his drink, which he hadn’t touched the whole time he was thinking.

“And those are?”

“Do we sit and talk longer, or do we get this over with?”

Joe yawned and gave a flippant shrug. “Doesn’t matter to me. I have all night, but if you’re in a hurry, the bed’s here.” It suddenly occurred to him that the original bet had been sex in one of the stalls. He decided not to enlighten the other man to that little bit of information. Vincent didn’t seem the sort to like straw sex anyway. It would get in his hair.

“I don’t know how long the others planned to stay in the Battle Arena,” Vincent replied, setting his beer bottle on the floor next to his chair, “but I would like to be back to the stables by the time they finish.”

“Well then,” polishing off the last gulp of his drink, Joe set aside the bottle and stood, “we’d better at least lose a few layers.” He eyed Vincent’s outfit for a brief minute, then started slowly unbuttoning the loose red fabric of his shirt. There were admittedly a lot of buttons, but it was nothing compared to the number of buckles on the other man’s getup and that wasn’t even including the strange, metal claw. Once he’d worked through all of the buttons, he shrugged the shirt off, letting it flutter to the floor.

Vincent hadn’t budged.

Mildly surprised, Joe arched an eyebrow. “Something wrong? Or did you want a strip tease to go along with everything else? I can do that, if you want.”

There was a heartbeat’s silence, then, “Have you done this before?”

“Done which?” Joe asked, turning to pull a small tube of lubricant and a couple of condoms from the nightstand. He liked to keep such things handy, just in case. “Slept with a man or gambled for sex?”

“Either.”

“Never gambled for sex before,” Joe shrugged, perching on the edge of the bed and eyeing his companion curiously. “As I said, it wasn’t really a serious bet to begin with. I have slept with a few other men.”

Vincent seemed to internalize this information, then nodded and started prying at the buckles holding his cape closed. “Good.”

“Why?”

“Because I haven’t done either.” The buckles gave way with surprising speed and Vincent stood, leaving the cape in the chair. He was clad in head to toe black leather.

“Really?” Joe rather thought that was a shame. “Well, there’s not that much to it.” That outfit had an awful lot of buckles to it, and touching the other man was really sounding like a good idea just now. “Want help with that?”

Vincent eyed him for a moment, then shrugged. “If you’d like.”

Sliding off of the bed, Joe crossed over and started working at the buckles at the bottom of Vincent’s shirt while the other man pried the glove off his right hand. “Shouldn’t you take the claw off of your left hand first?”

“It doesn’t come off.”

Something in the way the other man said that made Joe pause. “It can’t come off or you don’t take it off?”

Vincent stopped what he was doing and turned his head so that he was staring directly into Joe’s eyes. This left their faces close enough together that if either one of them turned slightly, their noses would collide. “It doesn’t come off.” With no further explanation, he dropped the leather glove and started unbuckling his top shirt buckles.

“Right.” Joe blinked, shook his head a little, and tried to concentrate on getting his breathing back to where it should be. That close, Vincent’s eyes were a bit unnerving. “Okay, but I’m not really into kinky shit. Just so you know.”

The arch look Vincent gave him said he questioned the validity of that statement, but he didn’t actually say anything.

With a light snort, Joe reached up and snagged Vincent’s headband on the tips of his fingers, pulling it free of the other man’s hair in one smooth motion, careful not to pull hair in the process. He tossed it into the chair on top of the red leather of the man’s cape. By this point, Vincent had finished with his shirt buckles and worked the leather off over his clawed left hand. Joe was left staring at a perfect black and white picture, accented in gold, of a topless, absolutely fuckable man.

He cursed the fact he’d bet himself into the position of bottom.

His eyes traced over the lines of Vincent’s torso. Thin as the pale man was, it was easy to see the line of his ribs and the soft hollow where they gave out, leaving only muscle and skin from there to the waistband of his pants. There were several scars crisscrossing his chest. Some of them were obviously fight wounds, some old, some newer, but there were others that lay in strange places and looked as if they’d been actually stitched. In the hollow of his left shoulder, just below the collar bone, was a small, puckered wound that looked almost like a miniature crater. Oddly fascinated with the little mark, Joe reached out to touch it, only to have Vincent’s hand clamp down over his own before he could make contact.

“Don’t touch that.”

“Sorry.” Joe didn’t make a move to free his hand. Instead he stepped in closer, leaning in to nuzzle at the line of Vincent’s neck. “How about this? Is this okay?”

He didn’t get an actual answer, just an inarticulate noise and the release of his hand, which he took to be a “yes”. Murmuring “good” under his breath, he brought his hands up and around Vincent’s back, taking the opportunity to slide them into the other man’s hair. It was delightfully fine and feathery giving it the impression of almost not really being there as he twined it around his fingers. It also smelled oddly of smoke.

Curious, Joe flicked his tongue out against the skin just behind the other man’s ear. He tasted faintly smoky too, mixed with something else, something unidentifiable and dark. He wondered if everything about Vincent tasted that way.

Tentatively, almost reluctantly, Vincent returned the embrace. Joe shivered as the cold metal of the other man’s claw sketched along his shoulder blade, slowly mapping out the contours of his back. Two fingers, regular flesh and bone rather than metal, dipped just under the waistband of Joe’s riding breeches, making the jockey give a soft moan of encouragement. No matter how stretchy it was, the white material was getting far too constricting. If nothing else, the firm, supportive underwear he had on to protect himself from bouncing around in Teioh’s saddle had to go.

Purring, he unwound his fingers from Vincent’s hair and trailed his hands firmly down the plains of the other man’s back, squirming both hands at once under the tight leather of his trousers. There was no underwear between that leather and the tight curve of the other man’s ass. Tan fingers kneaded and Joe grinned, enjoying the subtle squirm the action earned him. “Bed?”

Clawed fingers plucked at the waistband of Joe’s breeches. “These need to come off first.”

“Easily arranged.” Easing away from the other man, Joe gave a cocky little grin and started working his riding boots off. As a child it had taken him months to perfect the art of using one foot to hold the other boot still while he worked his foot out of the tight fitting leather, but now he could quite literally step out of boots that were half a size too small with the ease of walking. Of course, his mother still complained that it ruined his boots.

Hooking his thumbs on his waistband, he pulled both breeches and underwear down just far enough that if he did a little half step turn and sat back on the bed, he wouldn’t be sitting on the clothing he was trying to remove. Bringing his legs up in an almost contortionist position, he peeled the uncomfortably tight white fabric from his skin, tossed it on the floor, and ended up stretched out along the edge of the bed, smirking at his companion. “Coming?”

Vincent arched an eyebrow, lips twitching in a brief almost smirk. “I believe the commonly approved answer is ‘not yet,’ am I correct?”

Joe laughed.

Rather than follow Joe’s example, Vincent crossed to the nightstand and picked up one of the condoms and the lube. With his cloak gone, it was easier to track exactly how he moved, the way his steps slid together to give him a very deliberate gate that fell between a business march and a glide. It was at once graceful and stern and very intriguing in the way it combined the two. He gave the condom’s package a cursory glance before tossing it back down and turning his attention to the lubricant. He spent at least a full minute carefully reading the instructions. The look of concentration on his face was positively endearing. After what must have been at least two read-throughs, he set the tube back down and perched on the edge of the bed, about even with Joe’s chest.

Propping his head up on one hand, Joe watched the other man slowly pry his boots off. He reached out and tapped one finger against the jointed gold of one toe. “What’s the point of all the metal? Other than making a personal fashion statement.”

“Balance,” The other man replied, dropping the boot in question and switching to the other, “and defense. It makes kicking people more painful.”

“Ah. I…can see that.”

Vincent gave a fleeting chuckle and smirk, then dropped the second boot as well. He stood, unfastened the two buckles holding his trousers on and slid the leather off all in one, neat motion that rivaled Joe’s earlier gymnastics, so the jockey didn’t have much time to register what was going on before he found himself being pressed flat on his back with Vincent’s tongue sliding into his mouth.

His muscles tensed, following his first instinct to roll over and pin the pale man beneath him, but he stopped just shy of movement, remembering once again in a frustrated, snide mental voice that he was on the bottom this time. He growled in the back of his throat, refusing to be actively submissive and hang the damn bet, and accepted the kiss, flickering his own tongue around the other man’s. His hands came up and into that long, black hair again, twisting themselves between the strands as tightly as he dared for fear of pulling, tugging the other man down against him.

He might not have slept with another man before, but Vincent had clearly kissed two or three times and he was good at it. By the time their lips parted, they were both half gasping for breath.

Pale lips dropped to Joe’s neck, mouthing not-quite kisses along the line of the throat. Joe whimpered and tilted his head back, exposing as much skin as possible. He left one hand tangled in Vincent’s hair, the other pulled free to explore the line of the other man’s back. The way Vincent’s head bent to reach Joe’s skin left the vertebrae between his shoulders protruding through the deceptively thick layers of his skin and Joe traced them in a long series of figure eights.

Vincent slowly shifted downward, ghosting his lips along Joe’s collar bone, his hair slipping over his shoulders in long clumps to hit against the side of the jockey’s face. Joe turned his head, inhaling, letting the smoky scent roll through his sinuses and down his throat, twisting his stomach. He wanted something he could burn or hang in his room that smelled like that. He wanted a scarf or a shirt that he could wear that felt like the other man’s hair.

Hell, he just wanted Vincent.

His hips hitched upward, rubbing himself against the pale man. The beer and pheromones buzzing through his system was making him dizzy. He felt Vincent harden against him and irrationally wanted to laugh, somehow delighted to find that no matter how cool and impassive the other man was, he at least reacted to this. Instead he nuzzled through the length of Vincent’s hair until he found the shell of one ear and sucked at it. The action earned him a low growl.

“Any time you want, lover.” Joe purred, grinning.

Vincent pulled back just far enough to look down at the other man, his expression borderline curious. “Already?”

“Can I help it if you’re hot?” Laughing slightly, Joe leaned up and ghosted a couple of kisses against Vincent’s mouth. The second one was caught, returned, deepened until spots formed on the edge of Joe’s vision from the lack of air. When the kiss broke, he collapsed back against the pillow, eyes closed, panting for breath.

He could feel Vincent shift, reaching over to the nightstand. Cool air slid in between them, drying the faint sheen of sweat Joe hadn’t realized had formed on his skin, making him shiver.

Vincent sat up completely. “Hmm. You know, these instructions are rather vague.”

“Eh?” Joe opened his eyes and frowned.

Vincent’s hair was slightly mussed, giving it an adorably poofy look as the pale man sat re-examining the tube in his hand. “These instructions. I thought they would make more sense in context, but really they don’t tell you anything.”

Joe blinked. He was thoroughly turned on, desperate for contact, and basically too muddled to figure out what the other man was talking about. Swearing under his breath, he sat up and held out his hand. “Let me see that.”

Vincent obligingly handed over the tube.

Upon reading the actual instructions, Joe had to admit the other man had a point. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever read the instructions on lube before. The first time he’d used it, he’d been with a more experienced partner who’d explained its application. He faintly wondered how, if you only had a vague idea of what you were doing, ‘apply lubricant to genitals’ was supposed to be informative. However, he also didn’t want to take the time to explain the process to Vincent. “Here, I’ll take care of this half, you deal with the condom.”

With a philosophical shrug, Vincent ripped into the little square package that he was still holding in his right hand without so much as glancing at the instructions. At least he seemed to know how that worked.

Joe gave the bottle a sharp squeeze, experience telling him how much he’d need. Fortunately, tipsy as he was, he didn’t need too much preparation. A little lube spread around his entrance, a little more worked just inside and he was ready for just about anything the other man decided to hand him.

He was almost disappointed to look up and find Vincent ready and waiting. Watching the other man work the condom on could have been fun. As it was, he gave a cocky grin and handed the lube back. “There. You’ll probably want to put some more on top of the rubber.”

Without waiting to see how Vincent handled that last development, Joe rolled onto his stomach, reaching for the pillow on the far side of the bed and propping that under his hips to help with support. He folded his arms under the pillow he had been using, rested his cheek on it, and spread his legs.

“Is there a particular way to go about this?”

“Not really.” Without raising his head, Joe managed a shrug. “About half way in, pull out a little, then the rest of the way is standard and safe, but if you want to give it to me all at once, I can do that too. I would recommend giving us both time to adjust once you’re all the way in though, and feel free to try different angles. I’m easy.” He grinned, fully aware that his phrasing could be taken multiple ways.

Vincent was diplomatic enough to ignore the double entendre, at least mostly. He did give a half ‘hmph’ before folding himself over Joe’s back and nipping at the jockey’s neck. Despite the stimulation, his skin was still remarkably cool.

Joe grinned and shifted his head back, exposing more neck. He felt Vincent brace himself and concentrated on relaxing as the other man pushed slowly into him. He whimpered when the motion ended with a brush against his prostate, sending little electric jolts along all of his nerve endings.

“All right?” The voice in his ear was entirely too calm, but at the moment he didn’t really care because its mellow rumble simply added to the fluttery sensation in his veins.

“Yeah.” He half gasped, pressing his face a bit further into the pillow. “Shiva, yeah.”

The wet point of a tongue dragged itself along the edge of Joe’s ear, ending in a sharp nip at the lobe. “Good.” Vincent moved. He kept his motions slow and deliberate, pulling out just far enough to stimulate and to adjust angles, then shifting forward again until his hips pressed into the curve of Joe’s ass. He took the jockey’s offer to experiment with his angle quite to heart, changing it with every thrust, which made setting a rhythm absolutely impossible.

Within two minutes the odd pacing was driving Joe frantic. He was on the verge of opening his mouth and telling his pale lover to just pick a damn position when Vincent brushed across his prostate at just the right angle to make his eyes cross and his entire muscular system dissolve. He writhed, burying his face in the pillow, and managed to groan, “Hold that angle!”

Fortunately, Vincent took orders well and didn’t have to be told twice. He also sped up. Joe would have cheered if he weren’t too busy moaning into his pillow, pushing backwards into the other man’s motion, and trying to stretch the entire experience out as long as possible.

He lasted three minutes before Vincent managed to push him over the edge with one, particularly well timed thrust. The pillow muffled his half scream as the world went grey at the edges and all of his nerve endings fired at once.

Then he collapsed.

Joe shuddered lightly as he felt the other man pull out of him. Instinctively he rolled over onto his side, avoiding the now sticky pillow, and curled into a very loose fetal position. He watched with the satiated gaze of a lazy cat as Vincent stood, then frowned. “Hey.”

The other man stopped.

“You’re not finished yet.” Joe shifted again, one hand gesturing to the other man’s still very hard erection.

Vincent looked down, then shrugged. “It will go away on its own, given a little time.”

“That’s not the point!” As sexy as Vincent was, his unshakeable calm was getting to be infuriating. Joe pulled himself into a full sitting position and glared up at the other man, ignoring the fact he was naked, sticky, and his hair was probably hopelessly mussed. “Damnit, I pay my debts and I don’t send lovers away unsatisfied! Now get back here and let me help you with that!”

The demand got him yet another arched eyebrow. That seemed to be Vincent’s favorite, non-neutral facial expression. After a moment’s thought, he shrugged and sat back down on the bed. “If you’re going to insist. Mind if I use your shower afterwards?”

“Be my guest.” Joe half grumbled, shifting up behind the other man and wrapping his arms around that pale waist. He buried his face against the back of Vincent’s neck, inhaling that strange, smoky scent that was now coupled with sweat and sex, taking the opportunity to luxuriate one last time in the softness of the other man’s hair.

Keeping one hand pressed against the hollow of Vincent’s stomach, stroking at the sensitive skin, he wrapped the other around the other man’s erection. The condom was still firmly in place, its thin film a persistent, irritating presence. Joe growled. He didn’t mind the things during actual sex, but they had no business being in a hand job. He dropped his free hand down and, careful not to snap the stretchy contraceptive, removed it.

“I thought you wanted that there.” Vincent asked. Something in his tone suggested another arched eyebrow.

“Not for this.” With the condom removed, Joe nibbled at the side of Vincent’s neck and lightly dragged his palm up the warmed skin of the other man’s erection. He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath that made him smile. He played with the other man for awhile, his fingers tracing the prominent vein, then dancing away to skitter down the other man’s thighs and back. He licked at the shell of the nearest ear until Vincent squirmed sporadically against him, half whining, half growling in the back of his throat. He grinned. “In a hurry?”

Vincent snorted. “It would be gone by now if you’d left well enough alone.”

“Not without a damn cold shower.” Joe retorted. He once again wrapped his fingers firmly around the other man and stroked, no longer playing. He brought his free hand up to Vincent’s chest, brushing his fingers against the pale man’s nipples. Vincent’s hands clawed into the bedding and he dropped his head back to rest on Joe’s shoulder, leaving his entire neck exposed. Joe purred and grazed his teeth just under the other man’s jaw line. “Come on.”

Vincent’s right hand came up and cupped the back of Joe’s head, pulling the jockey closer, his fingers digging through the short, dark hair to his scalp. A slow shudder worked its way through the man’s pale form, followed by a very soft moan, but that was it.

Joe sped his hand up. “Come on…you have to be close.”

A half whimper, almost as if denying the very possibility of being anywhere near an orgasm, and then Vincent arched, his fingers tensing painfully in Joe’s hair, spilling sticky white across the jockey’s hand.

Joe smiled against the line of the other man’s neck, feeling the tension slowly release from those muscles, leaving Vincent’s body limp against his own. For a minute he just sat there, letting the pale man catch his breath, then he murmured, “There, better?”

“Admittedly, yes.” Vincent pushed himself slowly away from Joe and stood again, stretching and giving himself a little shake as if checking to make sure all of his muscles still worked. The movement made his hair swish against his shoulders. Apparently satisfied that all was in order, he turned and silently paced toward the bathroom.

Joe wiped his hand clean on the mussed side of the bed sheets and grinned. “Care if I join you?”

“Would you actually keep your hands to yourself and let me get clean?”

Part of him resented the implication that he couldn’t restrain himself, the rest was forced to admit that, at least where a naked Vincent was concerned, he probably couldn’t. “Point. Leave me some hot water then, huh?”

Vincent nodded and slipped from the room, the door barely even clicking behind him.

Stretching out on the clean side of the bed, Joe tucked his hands under his head and listened to the sound of running water. Even without closing his eyes, it was easy to imagine Vincent standing under the spray, the water sluicing along the pale lines of his body, turning his hair into a heavy, black waterfall. He killed that line of thinking. If he kept that up, he was going to be hard again by the time the other man emerged from the bathroom and that would be just a little bit embarrassing. Besides, as soon as he was showered and dressed, Vincent would probably be intent on leaving, and the last thing Joe really wanted was to be left horny as hell with only his left hand for company. Instead he turned his thoughts to the rest of the night.

Another beer sounded good. He’d get one of those after Vincent had left and he’d taken his own shower. While he was at it, he’d call room service and have them make the bed while he was in the bathroom. He was not sleeping in those damn sticky sheets.

By the time the other man emerged from the bathroom, Joe’s mind had moved on to the next day’s races.

“There should be plenty of water left.”

“Thanks.” Joe watched through one, mostly closed eye as Vincent walked past the end of the bed and started collecting his clothing. He felt a little coil of hunger go through his stomach as the pale man pulled his trousers back on, the contrast between leather and skin still pleasing. He kept quiet though, allowing Vincent to dress in dignity and peace, right up until he lifted his cloak from the chair. There was no way Joe could let the other man leave without at least a “good night.” That would be rude. He grinned, his teeth showing brilliant white against his tan. “That was fun. Maybe I’ll try betting with your friends again, next time you’re around.”

Vincent paused. There was no anger in his voice, no hope, just that infuriating coolness. “If you try, I promise you,” the pale man finished sweeping his cloak around his shoulders, “next time there will be…what was your term again?” He fastened the buckles as quickly as he’d unfastened them earlier, completely unhindered by his claws. “Ah yes.”

Suddenly Joe found himself looking directly into Vincent’s face, the tips of the man’s clawed fingers pressing lightly under his chin. He bit back a curse and jumped, not at the threat of those golden points, but at the fact that he hadn’t seen the other man move.

Vincent smiled, showing his teeth, giving Joe an uninterrupted view as his canine’s somehow elongated. Those cinnamon eyes that had fascinated the jockey so started to actively glow, a dull, sullen red, and an odd ripple ran under the man’s skin, starting at the temple and wriggling backwards, down the spine, lifting the red leather of the cloak. It was as if something was crawling under Vincent’s skin. “‘Kinky shit.’” The smile relaxed slightly, the fangs and glowing eyes were gone, and only the claws at Joe’s throat were left to tell him he hadn’t imagined the whole thing. “Next time there will be kinky shit.”

Joe stared as Vincent pulled back, turned, and headed for the door, stopping to retrieve another beer on the way out. He was vaguely aware that there was something he was supposed to say right now, but he couldn’t come up with the proper wording. It wasn’t until the door closed on the other man’s heels that he managed a faint, “Right. Kinky shit. Got it. Have a nice night.”

He decided that maybe he wanted his beer before his shower.

 

***

 

The stable was slowly winding down, although even at this late hour there were jockeys shuffling around, tending their birds, getting ready for the next race. A number of them eyed Vincent as he leaned against Atlas’ stall, absently scratching the top of the bird’s sleepy head as it drooped over the door. He ignored them and sipped at his beer, waiting patiently. Every once in awhile a couple of them would hold a whispered conversation and then move as if they were going to come talk to him, but they always lost their nerve.

He absently made a game of memorizing the chocobos’ names and watching which riders went with which birds. When he got bored with that, he turned his attention to the huge television set hanging over the table in the center of the stable. The races at this time of night were fairly anemic, the best jockeys racing in the daytime rather than the wee hours of the morning, but there were a few good races to be had. Still, he was getting tempted to simply head for the Battle Arena or his own hotel room by the time the rest of the party showed up.

“Vincent!” Cait Sith waved cheerfully, bouncing. “We were hoping you’d be here!”

Cloud looked at him with a nervous expression. The blond seemed rather tired and was sporting a couple of nasty bruises across his cheek and temple. “How’d it go?”

“It went well enough.” Vincent kept his reply deliberately vague. “We were able to come to an agreement.”

“Excellent! See?” Cid thumped Cloud heartily on the back hard enough he nearly knocked the younger man off of his feet. “I told you it would all work out!” Turning back to Vincent, he grinned as if the whole damned situation hadn’t been his fault to begin with and asked, “So, what’d we get?”

Looking him straight in the eye, his expression dead, Vincent replied, “We got him to leave us alone.”

“That’s it?” Cid frowned. “No gil or GP or anything else?”

“He gave me a beer.”

Yuffie shoved her face right up in his, grinning. “Oh come on! We’re all friends, right? Give us the juicy details!”

“Um, Yuffie…” Tifa winced.

Vincent arched an eyebrow and held out the bottle in his hand. “I believe you’ve drank beer before, yes? Still, if you truly want the details I suppose I could describe it to you.”

The ninja leaned out and away from him again, pouting. “Awww. You mean you really didn’t get to have hot, sweaty sex?”

“Yuffie!” Tifa groaned, clamping a hand over her eyes.

“What the hell you want to know details of that for?” Barret waved his regular hand in an expansive gesture.

“Yuffie, he already said he just got a beer…” Cloud was bright red, clearly trying not to think about what she was suggesting.

“You are _too young_ to be asking ‘bout the graphic details of two men going at it!” Completely ignoring their leader and the looks they were getting from everyone else in the room, Barret kept yelling.

“I’m sixteen!” Yuffie protested.

“ _THAT’S TOO YOUNG_!”

“Guys?” Cloud looked like he had a headache. “Look, I’m tired. Let’s just all go get a good night sleep, okay? We could use the early start tomorrow.”

“Agreed.” Tifa and Cait Sith both nodded.

Cid was eyeing Vincent’s beer. “Right. Hey, is there a place we can get one of those at the hotel?”

Vincent shrugged. “I didn’t book the rooms. I don’t know if they have cold chests or not.”

“Well I’m going to find out!”

The group slowly turned and headed for the door, Barret and Yuffie still squabbling. Vincent hung back, a taking up the very rear of the party, next to Red XIII.

As they walked, he noticed Red XIII sniffing every once in awhile at his clothing. He grimaced. There was no way of knowing whether his clothes still smelled of residual sex, regardless of his shower, or if even the clean scent itself was suspicious, but he’d bet his gun that the creature knew exactly what he’d been up to.

He slowed a little bit further and murmured. “Nanaki?”

Red XIII slowed with him, looking up curiously at the use of his true name. “Yes?”

Stopping completely, Vincent leaned over and hooked the claws of his left hand lightly under the line of Red XIII’s jaw. Dropping his voice to a warning whisper he hissed, “Not a word. You understand?”

“Of course.” The flamed tip of his tail flicking slightly, Red XIII looked up at him. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Shifting to scratch behind one furry ear, Vincent smiled. “Good.”


End file.
